


Say Say Don't Give Up

by quicksparrows



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: M/M, Modern AU, Other, Toronto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:07:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22354588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quicksparrows/pseuds/quicksparrows
Summary: Sylvain started jerking off to kpop music videos "ironically" and now it is ruining Felix's life. Modern AU.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 10
Kudos: 203





	Say Say Don't Give Up

Good things simply didn’t last.

It wasn’t that Felix was expecting to have a good evening. Quite the opposite, actually. A six-to-nine lit class followed by a late night group project meeting was bound to be miserable. Who enjoyed any element of group projects? Having his mark determined by the weakest chucklefuck assigned to the— nevermind. It was supposed to be a good evening because the group had collectively agreed to meet on Thursday afternoon instead, and he would be able to go directly home after the stupid lit class. He would relax. He would sleep.

For once, Felix could be in bed before ten.

That pathetic dream folded like a house of cards the moment he stepped off the elevator. The usual silence of the hallway was gone, replaced by the sugary beat of Korean pop floating from down the hall. It certainly wasn’t his octogenarian neighbour, or the middle-aged white couple across from him, or the brown family with the two small girls. Certainly not at this hour. No, this was closer to home. Felix knew it was from _his_ home, the condo he shared with Dimitri and Sylvain.

One of them was the culprit, but it was easy to eliminate Dimitri, who would still be at Robarts for a while yet, but that didn’t matter. Dimitri did not listen to kpop. Sylvain did. Ironically, he claimed, but he listened to it an awful lot for it to be ironic. And if Sylvain wasn’t doing a rare weeknight shift, he had fuck all else to do on a Tuesday night but sit and watch brain-numbing shit on YouTube, including the same seven or eight kpop music videos. He _could_ study, but instead he jacked off to girls who worked ten times harder than he did.

Felix paused in front of his own door. He didn’t need to find his keys; he’d already had them out to use the fob to get in the front door. He paused because the music was so loud that Sylvain surely wouldn’t hear him coming in, and some weeks ago they’d had an incident along similar lines that Felix was not eager to repeat.

With a sigh, Felix fished his phone out of his pocket and typed:

_Turn down the music or else._

And then he waited a moment. Nothing. The synthetic girls inside continued to chant, deranged: _say say don’t give up say say don’t give up breakthrough breakthrough breakthrough breakthrough something something._

Felix typed:

_Hey._

And again:

_Answer me._

Again:

_Answer you piece of shit._

He sighed, tapped into Sylvain’s contact listing and started a call. He cradled the phone between his cheek and his shoulder, listening to it ring endlessly. Must be on silent again, he reasoned. Sylvain always had his phone on silent, because he had embarrassing custom text tones and because then he could say he didn’t see someone’s message. And if he wasn’t looking at texts, why would he look at an incoming call?

Felix did not want to spend his rare evening off standing outside his own door waiting for Sylvain to finish another marathon masturbation session to synchronized dancing.

He jammed his key in the lock and let himself in as loudly as a human could, banging the door off the wall and his bag slamming off the doorframe. It wasn’t enough.

There Sylvain was, slouched on the nice leather couch that Rodrigue Fraldarius had purchased for them as a gift (and bribe) upon agreeing to sign on as their guarantor. The only light in the entire living room was from the TV, hot pink and blue illuminating just enough for Felix to register Sylvain’s grey sweatpants were yanked down far enough that his bare ass was on the couch cushions. His dick was out, and he palmed and squeezed himself with an intensity that did not match the utterly slack look on his face as he watched nine pop stars demonstrate the training only years of state-funded dance classes could impart. _Say say don’t give up! Say say don’t give up!_ Sylvain was barefoot. His toes curled reflexively. Felix’s heart slipped into his throat watching Sylvain carry on, woefully oblivious to anyone watching him.

Felix flipped the hall light switch. The sudden burst of light registered in Sylvain’s pea-sized, sex-addled brain a full three seconds later, just long enough for him to jerk himself through the sung lines of some bondage-lite pop star.

“Holy fuck,” Sylvain said, releasing himself in favour of grabbing something — a throw pillow — to put over his lap. “I thought you were studying until 11?”

“It got cancelled,” Felix said, tersely. “I thought we agreed no jerking off in the living room.”

“I didn’t think—“

Felix raised his backpack as if he might throw it, and Sylvain did raise an arm in defence, but both of them knew Felix wasn’t about to throw a bag with his laptop in it, as good as it would be for bludgeoning. Sylvain got to his feet, and Felix got a full view of his bare ass as he hiked up his sweatpants.

“Why are you so mad?” Sylvain asked, tone all coy and pacifying. He turned to face Felix, his erection creating an imposing tent in the crotch of his pants. “It’s not like your dad is with you this time.”

The single most mortifying moment of his life: his father insisting on dropping by, judging them already from the moment they stepped off the elevator and heard the music blaring, and letting himself in to see _that_.

“I’m going to kick your ass,” Felix declared.

He dropped his bag and lunged around the couch. Sylvain laughed, scrambling away.

“Do you have any idea how fucked up you are?” Felix snapped as Sylvain kept the couch between them. The girls of Twice carried on, beaming as two grown men circled each other in their name.

“I can’t— run with— a—” Sylvain protested, but he was laughing so hard that he was struggling to breathe, let alone get words out.

Felix nearly caught him, but Sylvain hopped the footstool with a tremendous stumble on the landing that had him catching himself against the entertainment center. The electric cotton candy palette on the television silhouetted his tented pants.

Felix tore his eyes away.

This was _so_ stupid. What was he even going to do if he caught Sylvain, anyway?

He gave up the chase, retrieved his backpack and went to his room. He slammed the door behind him, listening to Sylvain wheeze out laughter behind him.

Felix leant against the door and pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment. He could still hear the television as though it were in that very room, but not for long. It abruptly cranked down, marking the start of the ApologeticGrovelling. Felix put his backpack down on his desk chair and unpacked it, and then his phone vibrated. He fished it back out of his pocket.

A banner message from who else but Sylvain. It read: _sorry for missing this but you know I have to suooort my girl nayeon :-) a couple more weeks and it'll hit 69mil views_

Felix swiped it away with his thumb. He hated that fucking smilie and he knew Sylvain used it exclusively to bait him into another fucking _just use the emoji_ debate. No. He was not going to give Sylvain the satisfaction of a response.

Instead he was going to lay in bed and scroll Twitter, the thing he always did when he was pissed with Sylvain, because people on Twitter were always pissed about inconsequential things and it made him feel better.

It wasn’t long before the door creaked open — a maddening example of how shoddily modern condos could be despite a low 600,000s price tag — and Felix looked up to see Sylvain peeking in. Felix said nothing and just watched as Sylvain slunk in, and Sylvain grinned and got a knee up on the foot of the bed. A quick jerk up, Felix reasoned, and he could knock that dumb look off Sylvain’s face with one foot. He didn’t. He turned his eyes back to his phone as Sylvain started doing that annoying _casual lounging_ thing he did. The fool knew all his best angles to make himself look as harmless as possible, and Felix knew them all too. Better yet, he was immune to them.

“Go away.”

“You’re not that mad, are you?” Sylvain asked. He nearly purred it. He leant in a little, and Felix raised the phone higher and pretended to be more interested in Twitter. Wow, a recommended tweet about something that had happened that night on the Bachelor, a show that had inexplicably existed since Felix was in preschool. A woman had been sprayed in the face with champagne. Riveting.

“We have house rules about that shit,” Felix muttered, despite himself.

“You and I know far worse has happened on that couch,” Sylvain said.

Felix rolled his eyes. Partly at Sylvain, partly at twenty people posting the same gif of the woman getting hit in the face with the champagne cork.

“Like that time I hooked Dimitri up with that girl and she turned out to be batshit crazy and tried—“

“I remember,” Felix cut him off, tersely.

“And when you—“

“I remember,” Felix repeated, even more terse. “I am saying there are rules in place now because of that, and now I don’t want to come home to see people getting off where I sit.”

“Jeez,” Sylvain said. “You _live_ here, you sit _everywhere_. Where am I supposed to get off, then? You get all pissy when _someone_ clogs the shower.”

Felix did not really feel like explaining etiquette to a grown-ass man, and so he didn’t. He just gave Sylvain the driest of looks, and Sylvain, long since immune to his judgement, just grinned and slid a hand up Felix’s leg.

“Where am I supposed to jerk off, Fe? Want to tell me?”

He shouldn’t have even entertained this conversation. He could be asleep by now, but instead he was watching Sylvain coyly feel up his leg and give him that lazy-sexy look.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Felix said.

Sylvain, being Sylvain, did not give up on bait. He shifted down the bed, and Felix sighed as he was smoothly _straddled_ , Sylvain settling in his lap like he wasn’t six-foot-something and built like a quarterback. He kept just enough weight on his knees to tower over Felix, and at the same time he sat back just enough for Felix to feel his weight against his thighs.

“You’re so heavy,” Felix groused. Sylvain didn’t get to experience the satisfaction of thinking that his bullshit was effective.

“Come on, tell me, Felix,” Sylvain teased him. “Or maybe you could show me?”

That man-coquette thing did not work on Felix. Not at all.

“You aren’t as cute as you think you are,” Felix said, and he tried to maintain his charade of being more interested in his phone, but dropping his gaze just left him looking at Sylvain’s crotch in those threadbare grey sweatpants. Sylvain had bought them years ago specifically to take cheeky mirror selfies, which he bombarded on people after charmingly extracting their phone numbers from them on Tinder or Grinder (or some other -er app Felix had never deigned to waste time on.) He allegedly hadn’t done this for six months, but he continued to wear the worn old things because they were, _allegedly_ , “the most comfortable pants a man could own.” Whatever. The point was: Sylvain was still hard. The outline of his cock jutted forward, bobbing within Felix’s reach.

Felix determinedly looked at his phone. Some woman named Kelsey was accused of doing the champagne stunt in order to win the affections if the eponymous Bachelor. Fucking stupid.

And then, to make yet another point, Sylvain leaned in, getting a hand on the headboard and crowding Felix back against it. Felix was treated to a close-up of Sylvain’s too-tight t-shirt stretched across his pecs, but fortunately Felix had seen that enough to grow immune to that, too.

... Almost.

Felix met his eyes. Sylvain grinned.

“If I’d known you were coming home early, I would have just waited,” he promised. He did this little _thing_ with his free hand, his fingertips trailing down Felix’s chest, settling somewhere on his belly, right above the button of his pants. “Come on.”

Felix groaned.

“I don’t want your kpop thot boner,” Felix replied.

“What?” Sylvain said, amused, and then he added: “You shouldn’t call them thots, it’s misogynistic. And appropriative.”

“Just because you took one gender studies class doesn’t mean you now get to use the word _misogynistic_ ,” Felix argued.

Sylvain boomed out a laugh and withdrew his hand from Felix in order to make some mock-offended gesture.

“Excuse me, WGS100Y and the illustrious June changed my life. In fact, it has allowed me to understand the way intersectionality—“

“Shut up,” Felix growled, and then he looked atthe line of Sylvain’s shoulders and his stupid grin and then he _kissed_ Sylvain, supposedly because it was the only way to actually shut him the fuck up. Sylvain grinned around it, even when Felix grasped him hard by the back of his neck. When they broke off, Felix shoved him over. Sylvain went down like a sack of flour, laughing that victor’s _hehehe_ and pulling Felix over with him.

Felix pinned him. In the split second of stillness, lyrics burrowed in his brain like worms: _say say don’t give up say say don’t give up breakthrough breakthrough breakthrough breakthrough!!_

“You are the worst boyfriend,” Felix informed him.

“Yeah, but I’m irresistible.” Sylvain chuckled again, and, as if to make a point, he curled forward just enough to pull his shirt over his head. One-handed. He tossed it aside and as he did so, the curve of his bicep challenged Felix to disagree.

Oh god, he couldn’t.

Felix grit his teeth and spanned his hands up Sylvain’s chest.

“If that song is in my head the rest of the week, I’m leaving you.”

But Sylvain just grinned and pressed his hips up and Felix, like a fool, _did_ want Sylvain’s kpop boner.

_Say say don’t give up... say say don’t give up..._


End file.
